The Dirtiest One
by Nightwalker365
Summary: He was not a hero. Not a tragic role model or a beautifully sad idol. No, he was the man that children should run at the sight of, screaming as long as they could. He was a sinner, a low-life, the worst of the worst. The highlight of it all: deep down, he never wanted it to end. ShiroxIchigo
1. The Fallibility of the Human Conscious

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach.

Warnings: Mentions of depression.

Rating: T, though it won't stay that way for long.

Chapter 1: The Fallibility of the Human Conscious

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This moment. This was the one he had been waiting for. The wind beating hard on his temples and slapping at his face. There was no place for thoughts. No place for forgiveness, grieving, beatings, or blood. That space was taken.

His fingers gripped the chain link fence tightly. His knuckles turned white, probably less from the cold and more from the pressure. After all, it was basically holding him from falling hundreds of feet to a sticky death. He vaguely hoped they would hold.

No, that was wrong. He did not hope they would hold. He was not, after all, standing on the edge of a building, gripping a chain link fence because he was another average Joe that just wanted to keep on going. Keep on taking the train at 7 o'clock every morning, pushing through the hordes of people and bursting through the glass doors of the hospital. Keep on taking patient after patient, and waiting, oh so patiently for his scans, access to machines, the results of x-rays and CAT scans, and the surgeries. Those were by far the worst he had to deal with in that building. Every moment in that place was like being on a stage, heart beating, adrenaline pumping madness, and through it all he had to work as if he was under control. As if he knew what he was doing and how it all worked. To be honest, he was just trying to see past the blood pounding in his head every time.

It really was a wonder to him why he was known as the best doctor in Karakura. There was no reason for him to have that kind of title. He was just as insecure, whiny, and fucked up as all the people that walked through those doors. Well, except for the special few. Seeing and treating them was a special kind of hell.

Hell though. Real hell. The reason he was standing on top of this damned rooftop. That took the form of a once weakened male that could hardly leave the apartment due to his fragile skin. He had tattooed his eyes at 16, coloring the irises black and wearing gold contacts to make everyone around him feel just the tiniest bit creeped the fuck out. His own personal demon. The one that called himself Shiro Kurosaki.

Just the thought of the name had Ichigo's toes curled around the edge of the concrete. The small holes and rough edges spiked through the cold numbing his toes. He winced.

The wind cracked against the side of his cheek and for a moment he caught the smell of fast food, burgers soaked in grease and chow fun that had too much salt. The alleyway below him was relatively empty. There were very few people that chose to hang around a series of fast food restaurants without finding somewhere to escape to.

In that moment he remembered all the reasons why he wanted to live. The Chinese take out boxes that littered his floor were a physical momento of all of the dinners they'd shared. The moments that they'd fell against the back of his old couch and watched reruns of soap operas and game shows until the ended up the same way they always did. The boxes empty and discarded, only remembered by the ants using them as a lifeline.

He could hear them. His family, yelling and screaming at him calling him all kinds of names while begging him to step back onto the concrete, go back down the steps and keep going. Keep marching ahead despite the knot in his chest, right behind his lungs that felt as if it weighted a thousand pounds. A thousand regrets. Regrets and wishes.

But the thoughts had sobered him. Finished chilling his body where the wind couldn't quite reach. He tightened his grip on the fence. There was too much. This was too much. Too much.


	2. Dirty Devil Leave Me Be

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach.

Warnings: This chapter is supposed to portray something akin to rape, but not quite. READ CAREFULLY PLEASE. Also sex and incest.

Rating: M

Chapter 2: Dirty Devil Leave Me Be

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_"I'm complicated, you won't get me."-_Emma Louise

_I have to wash the sheets,_ he couldn't help but think. The semen would soak into the sheets and leave stains. Stains that he couldn't afford. When the man behind sensed his thoughts running astray he grabbed at the slippery skin again. He was pulled against the harder body behind him, his own boiling skin pressing against what felt like a furnace heating him in ways he didn't want to think about.

His chin was gripped tightly and he was dragged up to look at that face-too close, too close-that was too much like his. Even shutting his eyes tight, he could still feel the wet lips moving the suck his gently, a strong leg coming to wrap up around his pressing naked sex against the rounded flesh of his ass. Already hard. Wet even, spreading moisture on his already damp skin. Trying to entice him to breathe a little faster, press a little closer, want a little more. Almost making him squirm at the foreign heat and power it had over him.

"Stop." Please, please just stop. He wanted to beg, plead. But it would get nowhere. Only deeper into it. Deeper into this dirty, unkind lust.

"No." The reedy, mocking voice whispered heavy in his ear. Lips were following fast, caressing the shell as a warning before hard teeth nipped at the sensitive skin. "You're ready nii-chan."

A rough hand slipped around his cock. "See? You're already so hard here." He started stroking, started slow and squeezing, just enough to make him bite at his lips. "You're ready."

That was his only warning before the head started to push inside him. While he was still relaxed, still wet and open and stretched from the previous round, the steady pressure, the blistering feeling of being stretched past the point of comfort and deep into the realm of discomfort, it made him let out an agonized groan. A noise that refused to be held back by ragged lips and a weakened jaw.

He didn't know how much longer he could take this. How much longer he would be forced to rock so heavy against the bed, the soiled sheets. How much longer those cool hands and hard cock would insist on pulling groans, whines and whimpers from his bleeding lips. Dear God, how much longer would he have to sandwich himself between pleasure and pain, between the hand jerking him off and the column of flesh breaking, plunging, blistering the inside of him.

His younger brother was starting the grunt into the back of his neck now. Pushing in steadily faster and faster, his strokes getting shorter and shallower. He was getting closer, closer to the sweet plunge that would send him over the edge and into bliss. Ichigo had felt it too many times not to know.

Only, this time was different. Instead of continuing his pace, increasing his momentum and arching his back pushing deep into him as he finished, his hips were dragged up and he hastily pushed his arms up to follow. He was instead met with a harsh growl and strong hands pressing his shoulders into the sheets. "Elbows," was grunted into his ear as the hands refastened onto his hips. Before Ichigo had the chance to steady himself, the cock was back inside of him. Somehow deeper than before. Ever before.

His low moan was answered with a grinding. A grinding that made everything explode. Fireworks shot up from his belly. Lighting his insides a fire and burning everything from the bottoms of his toes to the tips of his fingers. His noiseless shout was lost among the almost white of the sheets prompting the younger to grind again, harder.

"Fuck." Ichigo gasped and clawed into the wreckage that was once his bed. And again. "Oh, shit. Oh, oh." He forced his face deeper into the bedclothes, attempting to lock his voice there. But it was too late. He was already revealed.

"There huh?" The heavy panting behind him made Ichigo question whether or not he'd actually heard the sounds he'd made or was imagining them. It didn't matter; the prompted thrusts sent shudders through his body and forced moans from his throat. The strength of the penetration shoved his body closer and closer to the head of the bed, for the first time since the beginning Ichigo did not have the strength to resist. To push back against the thrusts that buried deep enough, at just the right angle, to replace his weakness with strength, to return function to his arms and to stop his legs from shaking with the pleasure of it all. He would let go soon. Let it all go. God, he couldn't.

Thankfully, it didn't seem like the younger man could hold that pace for too long. The depth and speed of it all was sending him over the edge faster, even than what was normal.

"C'mon," the words were grunted out between heavy breaths. The speed was starting to increase, strokes getting shorter, sparing Ichigo from fighting against the pleasure of it all. Allowing him to focus on bracing himself against the bed, biting the thick cloth of his sheets, holding out until it was all finished. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

The end came fast. A long moan, with syllables of his name mixed in. A deep thrust followed by short, uncontrolled ones. Semen leaking out of him and down his thighs. More to stain the bed.

When control was found and conscious re-awakened, a hand would drop down to finish him off. Going just fast enough, running fingertips over the leaking head just when he couldn't take it anymore. Squeezing just right. Pushing the tension and pleasure until it all ran out of control. Ruining his sheets.

Shit.

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The Dirtiest One is a story about moral qualms and what it really means to be in love. This is NOT a story about non-consensual sex. Please read this chapter again carefully if you feel otherwise or send me a PM.

Thank you, hope you enjoyed.

Nightwalker


	3. Hiding For You

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach.

Warnings: More sex and incest.

Rating: M

Chapter 3: Hiding For You

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_"I'll divide the world and fall between your hips."_-Rome

He wanted it so bad. Shiro could tell. It was in the blush that painted his cheeks even after he'd already come. In the dazed and unguarded expression on his face after it was all over. His lips would part and his breathing would grow deeper, as if he was ready to sleep, but Shiro knew, knew that he was actually preparing himself for the next round.

Shiro couldn't stop himself from grabbing at his brother's skin again. Not when he looked like that. He pulled him flush against him moving to suck his lips into his mouth, making sure it was as soft and sweet as Ichigo liked it. When his little tongue came out to softly play with his Shiro couldn't help but grind his cock against that perky ass. Ichigo couldn't help but push back just slightly, and make that little whimper in the back of his throat. He'd look at Shiro as if he didn't expect him to hear it. As if, he was worried he would find out. Find out that Ichigo liked it so much.

"Stop." He'd whisper, while opening his body up more for Shiro's touch. Twisting himself just slightly so Shiro would have the space to run a hand down his chest, to brush his pebble hard nipples that only seemed to relax after he'd come. Shiro thought sometimes it was the air conditioning, it was always so damned cold in the apartment after all. It was his hips though, that told Shiro everything. The way it pulsed slightly as his hand got closer to the taut, sensitive skin that seemed to beg for touch.

"No." He knew it was something Ichigo needed to hear. Knew that without the guilt and denial he would fall apart on the inside. This was violating every moral and logical thought in his brother's head, but this desire was something he needed to sate more than any of those things. "You're ready nii-chan."

So he'd play the part, the part of the demon. Anything, anything to keep Ichigo safe. Even if it was just in his own head.

"See, you're already so hard here." He stroked and rubbed his cock. Using his finger to circle the head before fisting the length and making Ichigo bite his lip. "You're ready."

Shiro grunted when he pushed inside, making sure the pressure was steady despite his rising need to rut like an animal. God he was so bad at this part. Fucking like he was a goddamn virgin every single time. He moved the hand still on Ichigo's dick and started to pull pain grunts from his lips. He could have gotten off just like this. The taut body under him, the rhythmic press of hips until the end. But he wanted this time to be better. Better for Ichigo.

He pushed himself up, trying to ignore the way his cock throbbed when he stopped moving. Hands slid down to grab his hips; he had no more patience to slide and stroke his way down. He was too deep into this. Both figuratively and metaphorically, he chuckled to himself.

He pulled until Ichigo's back was lifted into a sharp arch. His lips loosened enough to grunt out, "elbows," and he pushed back in.

Oh God, at this angle it was so deep, so hot. At the low moan that escaped not quite pursed lips Shiro grinded hard. He'd read somewhere it was supposed to feel good. Ichigo's entire body tensed, his lips parted should have been screaming if the older man hadn't locked up his throat. Shiro did it again.

"Fuck," a raspy groan, hands clawing frantically at the new sheets. "Oh shit, oh, oh." Then Shiro could only catch sight of orange hair and sweat-slicked skin.

"There, huh?" He'd finally found it. The magic spot that was supposed to make Ichigo writhe and scream and come so hard he wouldn't be able to help wanting more. Yes.

This time Ichigo couldn't hide or smother his pleasure. He could hardly fucking brace himself before his face smashed into the headboard. Shiro would care more if Ichigo minded more. But no, they were both focused now. Focused deeply on the way his cock was pushing deep, deep inside of Ichigo. He was whispering something, something under his breath but-Shit he was going over. He was going-

Fuck. _Fuck._ He was supposed to-fucking supposed to. Shiro bit his the skin under his bottom lip hard enough to taste blood, but covered enough that Ichigo wouldn't notice. Notice and worry.

He moved his hand down. Down to the appendage he'd long since memorized. The only thing that Shiro knew, knew for sure, would make Ichigo come. He started fast, he wanted to feed off of the pleasure he knew was still floating around inside of Ichigo. He ran his fingers over the head-miraculously still wet-and revealed pathetically in the way that Ichigo let his hips buck against his movements.

"Shit!" He came hard, back arching into Shiro's, hips bucking hard. "Shit." They were both left with harsh breaths and a finished moment. Shiro wanted to kiss him. Wanted it so bad he had to bite his lips and pull out. Leaving Ichigo to his swarming guilt yet again. He didn't want to. Honest. But he didn't know what else to do.


	4. Slipping Into the Deepest Circle of Hell

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach.

Warnings: Hints at a blow job.

Rating: M

Chapter 4: Slipping Into the Deepest Circle of Hell

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_"I've been dreaming, dreaming 'bout you. 'Bout us."_-Emma Louise

Ichigo was having nightmares about his daily tormentor. They didn't always end the way they were supposed to-him shooting out of bed, sweat sticking his hair to his forehead so it always itched, hips still churning, his cock so, so hard. And Shiro was always there, always right next to him ready to finish him off-but Ichigo was sure that they were nightmares; they had to be. And they were keeping him from having a decent night's sleep. As a doctor Ichigo didn't exactly get very much of those so having them robbed from him in the manner that they were was pissing him off. Without a decent night's sleep even he, "the all perfect, magical Kurosaki-sensei" as they called him anyway, was prone to making mistakes. Mistakes that did not fucking need to be made. He'd forget to put on his gloves when examining a patient, or almost assign the wrong medication, even having tests done when no goddamn tests needed to be done. It was fucking stupid and frankly Ichigo was getting sick of it.

That was the only reason why he'd written himself a prescription for Triazolam. Good for insomniacs, kept them asleep and helped them fall asleep. As a doctor, he really should have known better. Nausea and dizziness were not good side effects for a doctor. Others may have been able to go to work with those kinds of symptoms. Ichigo was not supposed to go to work if he was not clear headed or ready to vomit at the sight of anything too bright. He _should have _taken the day off, put up with whatever the hell Shiro was going to throw at him, and eaten shitty Chinese. Instead he was here. Facing this fucking mess.

"Kurosaki-sensei! Are you alright?" One of the overly friendly nurses was trying to help him up. Her breasts bouncing and her rail arms struggled to hold whatever she could up. Ichigo would admit bitterly, it wasn't much.

"What is going on here?" Great Ishida was here. He would never hear the fucking end of this. "Kurosaki? What the hell?" Ichigo supposed the curse was warranted, even if they were in the work place close to patients. He was really too old to be making these kinds of mistakes.

Ishida didn't make any accusations. Didn't curse or yell anymore while he dragged Ichigo into an empty examination room and dragged the trashcan up to his mouth. Ichigo didn't stand a chance against the storm of innards that raced up his throat.

"Fuck," he hissed at the taste in his mouth, he really had to stop eating at that damned Chinese place. Still very aware of the sharp blue eyes watching his every move. Analyzing every inch of his body in a way that would have been fucking weird if both of them weren't doctors. "I'm sorry about this Ishida."

"This is getting out of hand Kurosaki." His voice was cold authority. The same one he used on recruits. Ichigo used it too, when he had to deal with them. "What is going on?"

"Haven't been sleeping well."

"Don't tell me you-"

"You don't have to say it Ishida."

"Are you insane Kurosaki? Do you have any idea what the hell is going to happen when Yoruichi finds out about this?" He was hissing angrily, a whisper that resembled a yell.

"If she doesn't find out then it's not a problem is it?" He looked as if Ichigo had shot him. Blue eyes wide and uncertain, so full of all the side effects of betrayal. It was the first thing that Ichigo said to Ishida that he'd ever mildly regretted. This whole fucking fiasco made worse by the fact that he was implicating Ishida in it. Ishida who had no fucking idea of any of it. He really _was_ a bastard.

"Shit," Ichigo covered his eyes so he wouldn't have to keep looking at the mess he was making. "I'm sorry. Fuck." It was choked. "I'll fix it. I'll stop."

"Hurry up." Ishida wasn't looking at him anymore either. Pushing his glasses up. "Fix it before I fucking kill you myself."

He left the hospital that day without the pills he'd almost fell into the pit of addiction with; and without seeing Rukia. Instead of those he walked home with a heart that was heavy as lead. Heavy as the lead that was blowing holes into it.

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Hi guys,

Hope you have been enjoying the story. If you have any suggestions or comments please review. It will make this story easier to get through.

Thanks,

Nightwalker


	5. Drunk on Decadence

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach.

Warnings: Lots of sex and incest.

Rating: M

Chapter 5: Drunk on Decadence

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_"I can taste the gin and oxy on your lips."_-Rome

Ichigo kicked the take-out containers a little desperately. The thin cardboard gave under his heavy steps and a small orgy of ants rushed out from under it. Shamed and frightened at his stampede on their food source. Some probably outraged at his actions. He was too. How could he have done that? How could he have fucking done that? What kind of fucking asshole was he turning into? What the hell did he have to gain by doing something stupid like pushing his friends away? Who the fuck was he protecting?

He shoved off his shoes once he'd found purchase on his bedroom door. Shiro always kept this house so goddamn dark. "Would you fucking turn on the damned lights once in a while?" He couldn't keep his voice down. The tremor in it visible from the outside. Ichigo hoped no one was looking. It was unfortunate that monsters could see in the dark.

A pale hand plastered itself up against his stomach, dragging his shirt up and shoving his hand down, somehow passing through the tight grip of his belt and the waistband of his pants. They weren't even bothering with dinner anymore were they?

Shiro didn't waste time coaxing, gripping Ichigo's length with strength that should have been painful, a heat that should have burned right through him. It should have made him scream and push away from the body behind him. Instead it threw his head back onto a still naked shoulder, rolling his hips in such a lewd way it made him feel so much like a whore. Through the haze of his shame at the shit show that day Ichigo couldn't have cared. Worse had happened than a hand job anyway.

He knew he wasn't going to stop when his hand came around to grab Shiro's hair and the other man's arms came to wrap tight around his stomach. He was giving him ample room to buck into the rough touch. And Ichigo was bucking hard, letting the roaring pleasure and shame rip up his spine from the soles of his feet sending him into thoughtless bliss.

When the hand pulled out of his pants, the wet heat played with his abs. The slickness made him flinch and tear out from the weak grip around him. He didn't often get those kind of opportunities; Shiro didn't like to let go until he was done. There was a soft growl behind him and Ichigo felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise. He always felt like prey here. Sometimes he couldn't help but wonder if that was the way he liked it.

"Don't think that was free bitch." A sharp slap on his ass made Ichigo stumble and he was grateful Shiro couldn't see the way his cock jerked. He jerked upright, refusing to acknowledge the burning at his cheeks, the ones on his face. A hard body and an even harder cock jerked against his backside. Shiro hadn't bothered with clothes for a long time since coming here, and with the way they had been going at it these days Ichigo wasn't sure why he did either. Hands were roaming on the inside of his thighs, palms and hard fingertips grabbing at his ass, spreading his cheeks as much as he could in the confines of his clothing and grinding his cock in the space between. Shiro was going to go hard tonight. "You'll pay me back double tonight."

"If that's the way this is going," Ichigo tried to extricate himself from the now unyeilding grip on his waist and the rolling hips. He was failing at not squirming in pleasure at the perfectly tight grip Shiro had on him. "Then I need to eat first."

"Fine."

They ordered take out, the same cheap shit they got every single night. Ichigo still had no idea why Shiro like it so much. Kung Pao with almost no sauce, orange chicken that was way too sweet, and chow fun that was too salty. The smell of the food would, should, have been overpowering. If it wasn't already soaked into his floor anyway.

Ichigo was halfway through the orange chicken when he was held down on the couch. Calves pressed against the outside of his legs, hands held his hair, gripping hard enough that pin pricks of pain was the only thing distracting him from the hard, _hot_ cock pressing insistently at his lips. He was already leaking, a sure sign that Ichigo would not be getting very much rest tonight. The precome rolled thick across his lips, dripping down his chin and into his lap. He breathed in the scent of thick arousal, the same one that penetrated the bedroom, and let his tongue peek out to lick at the head. The heat that met the appendage should have burned him to a crisp. It should have made him writhe in agony. But no, it caught him afire too. Made his spread his legs as he opened his lips. Made him moan around the way Shiro didn't give him any control at all, only held his hair and thrust deep. He'd already taught Ichigo how to relax his throat and let all of him in. Let him fill his throat and convince him he didn't need air anymore. The moans only made Shiro thrust faster.

They went at it like that for who knew how long. It could have been anywhere from minutes to hours and Ichigo didn't bother trying to keep track anymore. Time always moved a little differently when he was here. Shiro keeping a tight grip on his brother's hair, thrusting into the soft, wet heat hard enough to _almost_ bruise Ichigo's lips. Through it all Ichigo couldn't stop the choked moans, couldn't stop spreading his legs to make room for his own erection. It pulse, hard and angry, tight inside the confines of his work pants. It wanted out. It wanted the same treatment Ichigo was giving to Shiro's cock. It wanted to be sucked, caressed with a soft sweet tongue, to drip all over the white face fixed into an expression of pleasure, it wanted to jerk at the moans Shiro would make when he tasted the precome that was staining the inside of his boxers. Shiro would do him after this. Just like that. Just they way he liked it. Ichigo grabbed the hips close to his face at the thought, encouraging the quick movement. Enjoying the way the cock between his lips owned the space inside of his mouth, down his throat, for these few moments. How the hell could he be enjoying this?

They'd started this little ritual years ago. Years before Shiro had finally got the nerve to fuck him into his own matress. Back when they were just fucking kids. Kids that didn't know what shame felt like until he went off to college and saw what it was "supposed" to be like. It made Ichigo sick, the way things had turned out. The way he had turned out.

Ichigo let his hands slip into Shiro's already loose pants and grab his ass. He pushed Shiro in deep. Branding the inside of his throat like he'd done so many times before. Soaking in the fast pulse that made the appendage shake inside of his mouth. He closed his eyes, sucked hard and tucked the whining keen Shiro let out in the back of his mind. He couldn't taste the come that shot straight into his stomach but his cheeks still burned at the salty skin that played on his tongue.

He sunk back into the couch when he was let go. His eyes stuck on the drying precome staining his pants. It was Shiro that attended to the tight package between his thighs. Tossing away his belt into the remnants of their dinner. Ichigo didn't get a chance to think-not with the feverish palm rubbing his cock like that-before he was lifted up and carried into the bedroom.

His shirt was peeled from his sweaty skin, the tie moved to catch his wrists together. Make the pulse on the insides kiss. Shiro didn't wait for Ichigo to catch his breath before his lips and tongue were wetting his finger. His soft mouth sliding down the length of them, it made Ichigo's cock jerk inside his pants. Shiro sucked in his fingers, slow and deep, one at a time keeping his yellow eyes on Ichigo the whole time. Ichigo couldn't have stop the way his hips would undulate, even if he'd noticed. By the time Shiro had finished Ichigo was panting, his eyes shut tight. He wanted to feel the shame that would shoot through his veins and settle in the empty spaces behind his lungs. He wanted the dark, twisted feeling to take over his body, overwrite his arousal. Make him believe that this was wrong, that this lust was dirty.

He groaned when Shiro finally, _finally_ undid the clasp of his pants and yanked both his pants and his boxers down and off. Usually Shiro liked to keep them about halfway down his thighs. It was a way of binding him, holding him down without expending that much effort; making his struggle that much more difficult. But today, today Ichigo wondered if he would even try. The heat of the body above him, the way Shiro's fingers crept down his thighs, his hips, his stomach, the lingering heat of his saliva on his fingers it was unraveling any of the strength he would use to fight him off. Shiro licked his lips, keeping his eyes on the hard length that dripped eager for his touch. Ichigo trembled at the hot breath that would wash over the skin. His hand gripped Ichigo's thighs, spreading his naked legs wide. Ichigo wondered breifly if he would tie them down. He hated the jolt of excitement the thought incited.

Shiro bit the edge of his belly button to get his attention. His eyes both irritated and swollen with lust as he made his way farther down into the cradle of Ichigo's hips. His tongue reached out of his mouth, licking at the skin of his inner thighs, slowly moving closer and closer to the place he wanted it the most. Ichigo whimpered a little when Shiro nuzzled the nest of orange hair, his cheek brushing the pulsing taut flesh that leaked pathetically. Then his tongue was brushing over the head, tasting him in a way that made his hips lift. Shiro smiled at the whine when he held them down. Ichigo closed his eyes, unable to bear looking at the way Shiro's tongue ran up his cock, like it was fucking ice cream, lapping up his precome and gripping his thighs hard.

It happened quickly, Shiro was always good at surprising him when he least expected it, the quick lift of his thighs, the sharp thrusts of lubed fingers inside him, it didn't take a moment of Ichigo moaning and blushing hot before Shiro's favorite toy was there, pushed insistently at his hardly stretched entrance. Ichigo didn't know if Shiro liked rushing the stretching to keep him guessing or if he wanted Ichigo to hurt when he pushed it inside him. Shiro was sucking hard on the tip of his cock when he thrust the plastic inside of him. Small thrusts, in and out to coax him wider, spread him open. Ichigo couldn't stop writhing, trying to twist his body closer to the matress, stuffing the side of his face into the sheets. He couldn't stop the whimpers if he'd had the thought to try.

"Sh-Shi!" He was moaning now, high pitched and whiny, when Shiro started to play with his slit, his fingers crawled up his shaft, he was sliding the toy in and out, in and out. Ichigo couldn't stop the moans forcing themselves out of his throat. The sound wouldn't be contained, even by his tightly pursed lips.

Ichigo didn't realize the extent of his excitement until he glanced down at Shiro's wide smile, all of his shiny teeth glittering in the dim light. His breath still setting all of the nerves and wet skin of his cock on fire, but it was the way his cock would brush against Shiro's jaw rhythmically, the way his precome dragged against the alabaster skin that almost made him sob. He was so into this that he couldn't stop his hips from jerking, rocking with the toy Shiro was still thrusting into him. They had hardly started and he was already so deep into it, comfortably nestled into Shiro's heat, that he never wanted it to end.

That was the reality of it, he realized. He could think about the shame and the guilt all he wanted. But really it was his actions that told him-him and Shiro-how much he wanted this. How badly he wanted to bury himself inside this tainted love and barely contained lust.

_I can't give this up,_ he realized desperately as Shiro coaxed him into an orgasm. His mouth still hot and soft on his cock, the toy driving into him again and again, until the last of his shudders faded.

Shiro flipped him around quickly, Ichigo catching a glimpse of that long tongue licking the last of his come from his lips before he couldn't see any of it anymore. The sheets smelled like arousal and sex. He pulled the toy out from inside of him, stuffing it somewhere he would, again, have easy access to it and started his fingers at Ichigo's shoulders. He let the tips play at the skin of his back, tracing their own path down, down, down. Invading his heat, touching him intimately, and Ichigo wished with all the foolish, thoughtless, stupid parts of him, that this would never end.

* * *

Hey guys,

If those of you reading this can be critical of the things I need to improve on, especially in this chapter, please send me a review or a PM of your thoughts. I could really use them.

Thanks,

Nightwalker


	6. That Moment

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach.

Warnings: Lots of sex and incest.

Rating: M

Chapter 6: That Moment

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_"Is there a right way for how this goes?"_-Sleeping with Sirens

They were supposed to be brothers. That's all. Admittedly Ichigo was a better brother than most. He had morals and principles that other boys didn't. In a terribly ironic way that was what made this whole thing as fucked up as it was.

When Shiro first felt it he didn't realize the hard journey that he would be shoved into. He ignored it. Figured that fuck, if he didn't like his brother, at least a little, than he wasn't appreciating his brother the way he deserved. It turned out that he liked his brother a lot more than he should have. A hell of a lot more.

It started with wet dreams, right when he turned eleven. Early as fuck, but he was the eldest of twins so Shiro didn't really see a damned problem with that. Made Kon jealous as fuck though. It was the content of the dreams though, that Shiro guarded like his only secret. In a way it was. His only _real_ secret. Things like the password to the secret base and the short cut to the Sakurai's trampoline didn't matter as much as the way he imagined Ichigo would kiss him. Shiro would dream about the way his tongue would even play with his. How it would caress the insides of his cheeks in just the right way to make him blow. It took them years to get to the point where Ichigo would actually do that though.

Not that Shiro ever pushed Ichigo into it. He wasn't that much of a fucking bastard. No, it was Ichigo that started to stare a little bit, and shift like a lusty adolescent-which he was, even if he never admitted it-and Ichigo that pressed his lips against Shiro's in the laundry room when they were both folding clothes for Yuzu on White Day. Shiro never looked back. Even though he knew that Ichigo did; every day after.

They found places to hide together; places that people would never look. They found out the way they liked to kiss each other in the broken stairwells of abandoned buildings. The stairs still creaking with their every movement, but there was no one around to notice. Sat in each other's laps in the dead of night at the local park, letting their hands play at the peaks of growing muscles. They still jerked up with every loud whine of the swing set, wondering if they'd been caught. Maybe at one point someone had seen, and they'd been too busy with each other's tongues to notice. Sucking each other off in their empty house, learning all they ways they both liked it. Right up against the backboard of Ichigo's bed was Shiro's favorite place to do it. Hanging onto those orange locks until his knuckles turned white, rocking his brother's head up against the wood again and again until he came so hard Ichigo had to catch him and hold him up. And Ichigo, oh that kinky fuck liked it at the dinner table, spread atop the smooth surface, held down by Shiro's hands. Shiro used to be able to make him scream with pleasure. Writhe and whine until he held him. Those years, Shiro could safely say, were the best years of his life.

But, Ichigo went off to college. Went off to the middle of the fucking city to learn about all the different reasons why Shiro touching him, Shiro making him feel good, Shiro loving him to pieces, was wrong. He was damned proud of the fact that Ichigo didn't break easy though. It took them years, _years_, to convince Ichigo that what he wanted, more than anything, was "bad" for him. Was "bad for their family." Made him a "terrible older brother." And that was the trick, Shiro had figured out. Society had played him on his morals, fucked with one of the few things that mattered to Ichigo and made him give up one of the few relationships that really made him happy. Shiro convince their father of some stupid excuse and moved in with his older brother. He'd never left the apartment since.

Shiro would dedicate his life to Ichigo. Give everything to make him happy. Even if it meant forcing him into it. He would not regret it in the end. He would not.

* * *

Ishida didn't know if this was a good idea. He'd had reservations about doing this from the start. But it was getting to that point in the game, the point where either he did something or was forever condemned as the useless, oblivious friend. Not that he and Kurosaki would exactly be called friends. More like polite rivals. Even polite rivals had a line though.

He'd seen the signs for months. The aggressive kiss marks hidden under his collar. The way Kurosaki walked around with a limp for a few months and popped ibuprophen like a junkie when he thought no one was looking. Kurosaki was stupid to think he could out smart his friends. Rukia had known something was up for ages. Inoue and Chad could spot emotional turmoil from a mile away. And Ishida, well lets say he was acquainted enough with Kurosaki's stupidity to know when something was wrong.

Ishida knew he needed to do this. Knew that he wasn't enough for this kind of problem. He just had reservations about leaving in the hands of _that_ person. They were after all occasionally unreliable. Ishida didn't see a lot of options available though. Kurosaki with all his stubborn, irritating, hero-complex personality was incredible tight-lipped about the things that were victimizing him. The person. Let's be honest here and say that Ishida never liked that member of the Kurosaki family. Overall the family was, well, they were a general bundle of energy. But that particular brother was _not_ one he liked. There was a certain predatory nature to him that had always set Ishida on edge. And now he was-they probably are-

Fuck. He had to make the call.

* * *

Yoruichi cornered him the moment he got into the hospital. Her long hair whipping in his face and her narrowed eyes taking in his un-ironed shirt and unwashed pants. Dammit he was in so much fucking trouble.

He followed her obediently to the office. Ignoring the worried glances of the nurses and casting a few smiles at a few regulars that were due for a check up. Some of the faces seemed a little early and Ichigo knew he would need to ask Inoue about that. Were they a little early or was he not keeping track as well as he was supposed to?

Instead of turning into the double doors that lead to her office Yoruichi pulled open the door of an examination room. Ichigo felt his stomach drop and clenched his hands to keep them from itching at the deep bruise on his lower back. Shiro had been a little enthusiastic last night. A nice distraction from all the things he was starting to wish he didn't care about.

The examination room gleamed bright for a moment. The white walls, floor, and examination table made him close his eyes hard for a moment. When he opened them though he flinched. Yoruichi had brought everyone here. Inoue, Ishida, even Rukia. All of them standing in the examination room like a panel of experts meant to bring him down. Goddamn assholes.

"What the hell is going on here?" No one moved. Just stared back at him with a determination that Ichigo hadn't seen on any of them in years.

"Kuro-Kurosaki-kun," so it was Inoue first then. "We-we're just-"

"We're worried about you dipshit." Rukia now. Her hard eyes examining him the way he'd seen her do her patients. No doubt assigning him all these psychological "diseases" or whatever the fuck to him. He didn't need this shit.

"Can you worry about me after I treat my goddamn patients then?"

"So you can just run back home?" Ishida snorted. "Back to your brother? I don't think so."

Ichigo froze, his eyes narrowing on Ishida's trying desperately to gauge what he knew. He doubted they knew the extent of it. If so, they would have called the police a long time ago, they would-_fuck_.

"What the fuck did you do?" No, no! They weren't going to take him away. Not now. Not when Ichigo had just gotten him back. He was the only thing-the only goddamn thing-

Ishida's eyebrows came together and he opened his mouth. But Yoruichi stepped in and hand on Ishida's chest. A gesture that he may have only tolerated from Inoue.

"Nothing yet." Her voice was deep and forboding. "But I will fuck you up if you don't tell me what the hell has been going on that you would fuck up this much with your work."

"That's my goddamn business Yoruichi."

"Ichi-"

"It stopped being your business when you started fucking up my hospital!" Yoruichi slammed her hand down on the table. "Now, you get your skinny ass up here before I fire you."

Ichigo's eyes narrowed and he glance at the examination table. She'd do a blood test for drugs and diseases. A general physical to see how badly the drugs had affected him physically, if Ishida told her that much. It was the bruises though, the bruises and bite marks that made him shift uncomfortably, that would tell them more than they needed to know though. The kiss marks and cuts would only drive the point home harder. And then, they would take him away. Take him away from Ichigo, when that was the only place that he was probably safe. God knows what they would do to him after that.

He took a breath. He could do this. He would do this, for Shiro. "I quit."

No one tried to stop him when he left. For that at least, Ichigo was grateful.


	7. Save Me

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach.

Warnings: Physical violence, mentions of rape.

Rating: M

Chapter 8: The Fallibility of the Human Conscious

* * *

_"I don't hate you. I just wanna save you while there's still something left to save."_-Rise Against

He hardly dared to breathe the whole way home. The lack of air was the only thing that seemed to stifle any thoughts on the way an officer's face-_Renji's_ face-would look when they saw the absolute mess. The way they would shout for someone to open the door, Shiro would be sleeping or picking food out of the old take out, always completely naked. They would always take him away. They would shove him into the police car, burying their hands in the soft white hair pulling up the goddamn strands with their meaty, obnoxious hands. They would take him away. Maybe Shiro would acquiese to putting something, anything really, on so they wouldn't be leading a naked man around the station. Maybe they would tackled him down if he refused, hard hands gripping his wrists and pressing them into his lower back-the soft skin there might bruise, bleed even if they were rough enough-thighs pinning his legs to the floor. Straddling him. Straddling his Shiro.

Ichigo snarled and moved faster. Rushing through the throngs of people that crowded in Shibuya. Not bothering to apologize when he stepped on someone's foot in his haste, or pushed a little too roughly past a young couple. They weren't the ones that would lose everything if they didn't make it in time.

The station was crowded as usual. The Hachiko entrance stuffed full of people on their commute, standing in line for the bathroom, talking to the train man, everywhere, everywhere, all fucking in his way. He pushed through the clumps of people, rushed through the ticketing machine, and ran into the train that would take him home. Home to Shiro, the only person in the world he'd quit everything for. Do anything for.

He was family. The little brother that had looked up to him, grown up with him. Goddammit, now it was more than that. More than wide-eyed looks and holding hands when they crossed the street. Now, it was the slow tempo of their hearts when they fell asleep together after fucking like animals. It was the way Shiro forced him to see, forced him to look at all the things he really wanted out of his life. Forced him into those silken, stained sheets and told him that he didn't have to breathe if he didn't want to.

At the end of it really. Shiro was the only one that came anymore. Yuzu, Karin, Kon, even the old man. They had their own lives. Lives not dominated by their roles as sister, brother or even father. Yeah, Ichigo was a doctor. But there was an emptiness in the practice, a meaninglessness that echoed for every life he couldn't save. For every disease that he could only hold off.

Shiro was more than that, more than another face at the examination table, another variable he couldn't account for. Shiro, despite his fucking weird tendencies, was always home. Even if he kept the damned lights off, loved shitty chinese food, and yeah, tattoed his eyes. But he wasn't a fucking girl dammit. He didn't need a goddamned knight to sweep him off his feet and out of the office or a fucking sweet housewife waiting at home. He needed Shiro. Him more than anyone else.

He was in front of the door. Unbroken, unless Shiro let them in. He tested the knob. Still locked. He turn his key, and stepped in.

* * *

They'd made it just in time. Just after the midmorning rush but before anyone was stepping out for an early lunch. He didn't come easy if he didn't want to, and Isshin, as much as he respected them, really didn't need police interference right now.

Isshin had been a fool not to notice. He was their fucking father goddammit, it was his job to notice. Even if they were fully grown men with their own lives, their own careers. They should have had their own families. They shouldn't be here, hanging onto a family already moving apart. But no, there he was. The crazed leftovers of a man that he was supposed to call his son, knee deep in rotting Chinese food and crowded by flies. His naked body only accentuated in the bright, unused light, the same one that only flicked on after a hard push of his fingertip. Isshin worried for a moment at the sight of the man clutching his eyelids and spitting curses. But the sight of his bare body was only more proof, the rotting remains of the apartment, the thick smell of sex he would no doubt find in the bedroom. It was such a fucking mess.

The next few moments were full of flailing limbs, muffled shouts and wary glances. Shiro already knew what they had come for. It was just a matter of time now.

* * *

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckitwasallherf ault. All her fault and she knew it. She knew it. Rukia could still see them healing, the bruise spreading thick on his lower back, just above his gluts, purple and blue, the scratches peeling down his back, some circling his nipples, and hickeys. Hickeys, hickeys, everywhere. Bruises, likely from ropes, circling tight around the veins of his wrist, fingertips marked purple on his ankles, the insides of his thighs, his hips. They didn't have to do a rape kit to know what had happened.

His naked, open body was still on the table when she fell. She was sprawled out on the floor, limbs tangled, a cart of examination tools on the floor. There was only the fading ring of metal against concrete to muffle her sobs.

Her failures were here, written out on her too pale skin, her knobby knees and too thin legs unable to support her androgynous frame. They said she was nothing. This was only more proof. Proof that she wasn't _there_. There to save him, there to really see how bad this was. Yes, she knew something was wrong, something was up. But he had been closed off and touchy enough that they hadn't bothered him about it. He wasn't a silly teenager anymore. Ichigo could take care of himself.

But he wasn't. This was her proof. Here he was drowning in sexual abuse while they had been expecting him to figure his shit out. That he was grown up enough to do that. She should have known better. How many of her adult patients couldn't even look in the mirror and see what it was they liked about themselves? How many could look into their own eyes and say they were fulfilled? There were days that Rukia didn't want to know.

It wasn't until that thought that Chad helped her up. He'd heard too apparently. Rukia didn't want to know how many would walk through those doors today wondering the same thing. Feel the nausea crash into their body and think, _no way, no fucking way_. This wasn't right. This wasn't real. This wasn't okay, goddammit Ichigo!


End file.
